In a place not far from Kaelthar
Caelum stumbled as his soldiers dragged him through the rubble-choked streets, his golden eyes fixed on the pillar of rainbow light still fading in the distance. The Lance of Pride hung limp in his grip, its light dimmed, its hunger sated not by victory, but by retreat.
"Damn it..." His voice came out hoarse, raw with exhaustion and disbelief. "What... what the hell is that thing? He's not just a monster... he's something else entirely."
A soldier grabbed Caelum's arm, pulling him forward. "Your Highness, we need to keep moving! The city isn't safe!"
Another soldier, older, his armor cracked and scorched, fell into step beside them. His voice was grim, matter-of-fact.
"We've suffered heavy losses, Your Highness. Of the two hundred men we brought... less than a hundred remain. The rest are dead or scattered."
